


Feel Better

by nagitosguts



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Blood and Injury, Complicated Relationships, Hospitals, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagitosguts/pseuds/nagitosguts
Summary: By doing all this stuff, Hajime just thinks he’s earning his one-way ticket to heaven.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Feel Better

**Author's Note:**

> this is just sort of a little ramble i wrote about late last night because i haven’t written in months and wanted to do something about nagito and hajime’s complicated relationship

Knowing that Hajime never truly cared for him, Nagito finds it easier and easier to come to terms with his suicide attempt.

Even if it had failed.

Sure, the wounds on his thighs ache, and he won’t be able to walk for weeks because of it; the hole in his right hand is bandaged up so tightly he can’t use it anymore, and the irreversible damage that’s been done to his inner workings by the poison he inhaled is just the cherry on top.  
He won’t be able to do any physical activity without getting winded or passing out. He’s forced to take breathing treatments as another form of physical therapy and his diet will never be the same. 

He hates the feel of the bandages, though, most of all. They’re on his hands, his thighs, his arm. Places he’s supposed to be able to move. He can live with the other stuff; it’s what he deserved anyway, for making such a half-assed plan. 

It isn’t until Hajime visits him for the first time that he starts to regret the failure of said plan. 

He’s missed him. So much. He’d endure the smell of chemicals and antiseptic and clean linen for years if it meant being able to spend time with Hajime. 

He loves Hajime. Every bit of him, from the way the tips of his ears turn red when he sees him to the way he tends to rub his neck when he’s feeling uncomfortable. 

Which, unfortunately, is what he’s doing now, seated in a chair adjacent to Nagito’s bed. 

“I really hope you don’t think I’m expecting you to play therapist,” He starts, hands folded as neatly as they could be across his lap. Something gnaws at the back of his brain and makes him feel suddenly quite self conscious for being in Hajime’s presence wearing only a hospital gown. 

“I feel honored you would come visit selfish scum like me in the first place, Hinata-kun.” 

He says it with a slight shake in his voice that turns into a weak laugh. Even in his darkest times he can’t help but put himself down. 

“You don’t have to call me that,” Hajime starts. He can’t stand the smell in here. It smells like sick people. Dead people.  
It’s cold. 

Nagito meets his eyes directly.  
“I like to.”

He blinks slowly. 

“Unless you prefer me to call you something else?” 

“Just..Hajime is fine.” 

And then there are no more words. Nagito goes quiet and stares out his measly little fogged up window and lets Hajime hold his cold, bony hand until the buzzer sounds outside the door which indicates their window of time is over and Nagito has to pretend he’s fine with him leaving. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Nagito tries courageously, head tilted. 

The door shuts right before his sentence is over. 

The hum of the machines plugged into him have made quite a soundtrack to his useless life in the hospital. 

He understands. 

He must look a mess.  
Hair disheveled, even more than usual, nails cracked and still caked with his own blood underneath.  
Pale skin, bone thin. Eyes drooping from a lack of sleep, lips chapped and red.

He’s practically asking Hajime to care for a corpse. 

He’d never return these feelings. It’s okay. 

He understands. 

•

Nagito doesn’t spend the night in the hospital anymore. 

Instead, he sleeps in Hajime’s bed, shivering despite the body heat pressed against him. It’s so hard to sleep, and he feels bad, because he’s so tired but he knows if he sleeps he’ll have thrashing nightmares that will bother Hajime and open his wounds. 

He misses the stuff they’d feed into his veins at the hospital. It made everything so fluffy. 

He still wears bandages, but they’re less thick now. He still can’t use his right hand, though. His body feels as if it’s betrayed itself. 

Hajime finds him bleeding on the floor one night, thighs unwrapped and the stitches from his upper arm wounds stuck in his teeth. 

“I want to see God,” Is what he gurgled before Hajime shoved him into the shower. 

It’s warm. The sound of water hitting the floor is somewhat comforting, mainly because they’ve done this way too many times now. 

Nagito sniffles.

“Please,” He begs, stuck on the floor while the water drenches both of their clothes and they watch blood swirl down the drain. 

“Please let me die.”  
Nagito had started to cry, his wheezy voice turning into a mess of sobs that would surely take his breath away soon. 

“I’m so selfish, Hina-H-Hajime, I don’t deserve to be here,” He chokes out, letting Hajime scrub the blood caked on his hands, remove the soggy bandages and tentatively clean his opened wounds just like Mikan had reluctantly taught him. 

“Trash like me needs to be purged in order to create a more f-fruitful hope, Hajime, you have to listen to me!” Nagito shouts weakly, his voice barely crackling out. “L-Listen...”

“Enough.” 

Hajime turned the water off and they were both hit with a rush of cold air. He can’t stand listening to this again. Not anymore. This isn’t a class trial, where Nagito gets to pull the reins and confuse everyone and sabotage things just for the sake of hope.  
It’s so hard to even believe hope exists anymore. 

Nagito starts to shiver again. 

He’s wordlessly guided out of the shower, both of them dripping wet. Hajime can’t tell whether Nagito is still crying or if it’s water, his face is so flushed.

They both choose to ignore the slowly drying bloodstains on the wooden floor. 

Hajime slowly peels Nagito’s clothes off of him, and dries his wounds before applying new rounds of bandages, his own clothes still sticking to him. He ties them just a bit to tight in hopes that maybe the pressure will make Nagito pass out. 

Maybe. 

“Why did you do this to yourself.”  
It’s not really a question, but more of a statement, because he’s been attempting shit like this for the past week. 

He’s been staying in Hajime’s cottage because when he was alone they found him passed out in a pool of blood from trying to dig his fingers into the hold through his hand.

He doesn’t answer though. He looks too tired to fight anymore, and Hajime already knows what he’d say anyway. 

_Because I want to die, Hinata-kun, I NEED to die, it’s for the greater good, to further instill hope into beautiful people like you. You have to use me to be able to better yourself and become the hope the world yearns for, Hinata-kun._

Or something like that. 

Nagito just cries instead, still lets Hajime maneuver him like a doll, lets him redress in clothes that aren’t his-clothes that smell like oranges and body wash and suddenly make him sleepy-and guide him back to bed.  
The sheets are even still a bit warm.

The clock reads 3 AM. 

“I love you,” Nagito croaks out, barely audible. His body feels so numb, it’s like he can barely move.  
But he still traces a shaky finger down Hajime’s jawline endearingly. He’s so beautiful. So pure. 

So hopeful. 

Hajime, however, is a very heavy sleeper.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway!


End file.
